And The Dead Unite
by kaytee83
Summary: Who'd have thought they'd never let Prue rest in peace? The dead wiccan finds herself facing new, crazy challenges with an old, crappy partner. And you thought I was weird before.
1. I Am Prue

A/N: Okay, as some of you may know, I am utterly crazy, and this is me. Rambling. I don't know what the paige this is, but I know that most of you won't like/understand it. That's cool. But I've been quiet here on FFN and thought you could all do with a little KT on these warm October nights. In August.  
  
So just accept these innane mumblings for just that; the continual flow of my mind, and I wrote just exactly what came to me. Flames are possibly even more welcome than nice reviews. Support your local KT!  
  
*  
  
And The Dead Unite  
  
*  
  
Prudence Halliwell doesn't like twinkly music. Oh no. No, it flat-out annoys her on most occasions. She was probably the only baby in the world who screamed in rage at the mobile suspended above her crib to satiate her curiousity and give her mother and grandmother a break from the continual racket of her cries. So we can only imagine her displeasure when, while basking in the warmth and security that heaven generally offers, she hears the tinkling of bells in her ears.  
  
And she keeps hearing them.  
  
One particularly bright and sunny day, she'd chosen to spend her quality leisure time at the beach, hanging out with her little heaven Piper and her little heaven Phoebe. These Pipers and Phoebes are not the real thing, but Prue attempts to solace herself this by acknowledging they will be here someday, even though that sounds like she wants them dead. In heaven, anything you want, will be. In Prue's heaven, she lives with her sisters and is married to Andy Trudeau, happily. Her mother is still alive and her father, Victor, is never anywhere to be seen. Her grandmother is also alive, and they are all happy. She even has a little girl, though she has no name. It's never brought up.  
  
Of course, that isn't the way heaven is shaped for everybody else. For example, in Patricia Halliwell's heaven, she lives in union with her old Whitelighter Sam, and she is in her twenties, and she has two children; Prudence and Piper. The children are well-behaved. They are not witches. Penelope Halliwell rarely even pokes her head around the door in Patricia's heaven; it simply does not occur.  
  
In so many ways, heaven is fabulous. Anything you wish to happen, will happen. People you knew on Earth can be reunited, living or dead, and behave any way you like.  
  
But for those who know that? The poor souls who know that it can be perceived as a sham? It is very lonely.  
  
Though the point here is not to discuss the aspects of, highlights and downfalls of heaven.  
  
"It's not?"  
  
No, Prue, it's not.  
  
"Oh... I had some things I wanted to bring up about that, though."  
  
Save it for the epilogue. Or someone who cares.  
  
"Fine."  
  
Where was I? Right, I think I was getting right to the point, which I seem to have taken a long time consider. Prue did not like tinkly music, and now all she was hearing was it bearing down on her ears, so loud it was like the buzzing of an inferno of bees, cursing at her and screaming at her.  
  
Unable to take anymore, Prue enters The Real, where dead people can meet each other out of their own heavens, and have proper discussions with the actual people, rather than their own heavenly versions.  
  
"It won't damn well shut up!" Prue yells to her grandmother, who takes on a soothing tone and frowns gently.  
  
"Oh, Prue," she scolds lightly. "Didn't you know that's the call of the Elders? They wish to speak with you."  
  
Anger presenting itself in Prue's scowl, the ghost stamps her foot on the cloudlike floor, and lenches her hands into tight fists by her sides. "Well why couldn't they have said that in the first place?" she growls loudly and with a brash, furious sigh, turns on her heel and stalks off to consult somebody else on how exactly she locates the Elders, who can be extremely evasive when they wish to be.  
  
"Even when they want to see me," Prue agrees huffily.  
  
Eventually she stumbles across a group of Whitelighters who are gawking at a new addition to heaven, a slim, attractive, twenty-something and lethal-looking brunette. They yelp in pain when Prue stumbles across them, knocking them over like in ten-pin bowling, but seeing as there's only five of them, so let's save a whole lot of headaches and call it five-pin.  
  
One of them gets to his feet and adjusts his hood, before extending a hand to Prue. "You okay, miss Halliwell?" he asks gently, helping her to her feet. "You were stumbling at forty on a thirty-limit lane. I'm gonna have to give you a ticket."  
  
Prue grumbles as the speeding ticket is plastered onto her forehead before ripping it off and stuffing it into her pocket. "You know, it's friggin' rude to put it on my face when I'm standing right here," she says, opposing his gesture to a situation where she had projected out of her body or something similar. And it is true, what he did was rude. But he is just spiteful because she wouldn't sleep with him the other week. "Now tell me, how do I get to the Elders?"  
  
Rolling his eyes and sighing boldly, the Whitelighter shifts his weight and mutters a reply. "Straight ahead, left, then first on the right."  
  
Thanking him curtly, Prue turns around and realises what she'd just been told doesn't make sense: The Real is an expansive place with no boundaries and most certainly no corridors or doors. However, looking over her shoulder, she sees the Whitelighter nodding encouragingly, so decides to give it a shot.  
  
Walking dead ahead, making a straight line towards nowhere in particular, Prue slowly halts and turns right to a ninety degree angle, then makes a one-eighty upon realising she was supposed to turn left. Tutting at herself, she then takes the first right and finds herself in a completely different area, and most certainly not the one she has been expecting. "Dammit, Leo," she curses to herself the name of the Whitelighter who had directed her so wrongly (not to be confused with Leo Wyatt, however). "That petty bastard!"  
  
Prue isn't in the Elders' chambers. Prue is hard-pushed to even hazard a guess at where she is at all.  
  
In front of her lies a vast land, where the ground is made of red bricks and the sky seems to be confined in a square of light, covered with a protective film. A huge dog-like creature bounds across the brick ground just a little ahead of her, and leaps into an orange lake, spraying water for a huge distance around. Prue gets splashed with some of the orange water. She finds it thick and syrupy to the touch, and not in the slightest bit appealing.   
  
A rodent squeaks around her feet, sniffing at her gingerly, it's whiskers furrowing and nose snuffling. Prue is not afraid, for some reason, as usually such a creature would repel her. As a matter of fact, she is beginning to feel drawn into this strange and mysterious, yet placid and cheerful world. Perhaps she would like to stay here a while.  
  
Smiling, Prue proceeds further into the world, not seeing the huge black mist that has decended from the square of sky, the soul-eater comprised of smoke and pain, that wishes to devour her ghostly form from the inside.  
  
Not every place in heaven is safe.  
  
She does not see the dark cloud, blackened and cancerous, slowly trickle over to her and wrap itself around her leg, nor does she notice it when, frantic with anger at hearing the call of the Elders again, she spins on her heel and marches back out the way she'd come in, and the smoke is forced to untwine itself from her ankle; and she never will know how close she was to non-existance.  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she mutters under her breath, and makes her way through the space that is The Real with no real direction in mind. Eventually she decides to simply think about the Elders, close her eyes, and take three paces forwards. On the second, she has already arrived in the correct location. "Well finally," she breathes.  
  
"So glad you could join us, Prudence," says one of the cloaked creatures.  
  
"Well it would've been much faster if you'd just teleported me here," Prue snarls, already disenchanted with the Elders, more so than she had been on Earth. "So what is it?" she demands rudely, folding her arms and tapping her foot. "And it's Prue!" she adds, further adding to her own and the Elder's disgruntlement.  
  
The Elder rubs at his face in an almost prayer-like action, and sighs. "Prue," he begins, emphasising the 'ooo' sound of her name in a very patronising manner. "You have been dead for two years now."  
  
Blunt much?  
  
"And I was also under the impression you guys were sensitive about this sort of thing," Prue growls, not really understanding why she's so angry, but accepting it all the same. "Look, just tell me: what do you want? Because all this jingling and jangling? Is so not making me smile, and you know, it makes your Whitelighters seem very campy when you consider how often they hear it and how they react to it..."  
  
Of course she is thinking about Leo.  
  
"Of course I am."  
  
"Um... who are you talking to?"  
  
Prue's attention snaps back to the Elder and she blinks, realising that he cannot hear, see or in anyway interpret the narrative of this story. "Weird," she mutters, then sniffs and shakes her hair a little. "Anyways, your point?"  
  
"Right. You're going back to Earth."  
  
The sound of Prue being utterly gobsmacked really does resemble a somewhat smug-on-the-Elder's-part silence. Somehow she summons words. "W-what? I can go back? To my sisters?" Prue is one of those few people that knows how fake the people she lives with in heaven are. It has depressed her thoroughly.  
  
"Sisters? Oh, no, no of course not," the Elder says in the most diminuative voice Prue has ever heard in her life. And from that moment she hates him, and from that moment she knows things can only get worse. "No, no. You'll be teamed up with someone quite different to yourself."  
  
"And what will we be doing, pray tell?" Prue inquires, a bemused glare plastered on her face.  
  
"What you expect to be doing," the Elder replies.  
  
Frowning, Prue narrows her eyes and makes herself taller. "Fighting evil?"  
  
"Not as such," exhudes the Elder cryptically, as usual. "Not 'evil' as such."  
  
"Well you hardly mean we'll be fighting good!" Prue chortles in a dismissive tone, then her face falls when she sees the look on the Elder's face. "You don't, do you? Because I'll walk right back out of that door-" as she speaks, she turns, and realises there is no door. As a matter of fact, there's no way out.   
  
"Well I knew that," she complains irritably.   
  
I know you did, Prue, but the readers-  
  
"Shut up about the damn readers!"  
  
"Who are you talking to?" asks the Elder once more, finding himself rather unnerved by Prue's sudden movements and changes in temperaments.  
  
"No one IMPORTANT!" Prue yells, her face pointed upward objectively.   
  
Fine. Anyways-  
  
"Anyways," Prue butts in, "Who is this mystery partner, and what the heck are we gonna be fighting?"  
  
"Well," begins the Elder, quite tired of being interrupted so often. "Your 'mystery partner' will be chosen by the Source, and you will be fighting whatever force comes up against you."  
  
He'd had Prue at the Source. He'd had me at the Source. As for you, I have no idea, not being you, or being your life narrator (although I assure you, you all have one - when you think you're talking to yourself, uh uh, it's your narrator you're talking to) so can't really tell. However, it's sufficient enough to know that he had both Prue and I at the mention of the Source, and how he would be sending a partner for Prue to work with? Good and evil, working together? How can this be?  
  
"Good and evil, working together? How can this be?" Prue... repeats.   
  
"It just can!" snaps the Elder darkly. "Now get the hell out of here and stop asking annoying questions!"  
  
With that, he claps his hands and there is a flash of lightning.  
  
Prue finds herself utterly nude in a dark cavern.   
  
There are clothes draped on a nearby stone, warmed by a flickering fire. Prue notes that it is ventilated, although she appears to be underground. With much annoyed sighing at the obviousness a man laid these out, she eventually pulls the leather pants and tight, black short-sleeved top before freezing upon hearing a familiar voice.  
  
"Ah, you found the clothes I left out for you," it says.  
  
"You're kidding me..." Prur utters, and turns to face him. "Cole," she nods curtly, keeping her greeting as void as possible. She still hates him. Well, who wouldn't? After all he put the Halliwells through, who could honestly forgive him, even like him? Only an insane person. Or a stupid one. 


	2. I Am Lost

A/N: Wackier than the last? I think so!  
  
A/N: Appearances from my nearest and dearest, and more random references than you can shake a stick at!  
  
*  
  
And The Dead Unite  
  
*  
  
"This is a stupid story!" Prue spits as she scuffs her foot off the side of a passing rock, which, hurt by her offensive gesture, begins to cry and rolls away. "Only a stupid person would write such a thing and only equally stupid people would read it, much less enjoy it!"  
  
She's been ranting like this for a good half hour. Mostly, everybody who can hear her has tuned out, including myself and Cole. However, as the [stupid] author of this story, I do know that very soon the tale will progress, and thought this might be a good place to reassume the actual telling of the story, as you've missed rather a lot.   
  
A lot being, a lot of words, and shouting.  
  
Cole sighs brashly, clearly getting tired of Prue's continual heated comments on my intelligence. "Prue, do you wanna know why this story is getting written? Why we're here, together, and why that rock rolled away when you kicked it?"  
  
"Well it rolled away because it was hurt, dumbass," Prue retaliates, then pauses. "Can rocks do that?"  
  
The rock in question happened to overhear Prue's wondering and answered: "Conventionally, no."  
  
Slightly taken aback, Prue enjoys an abrupt, cut-off silence before adding her thoughts on this revelation: "Oh," she says, "of course." Dismissing the rock as if it were no more common than a falcon on fanfiction, Prue turns to Cole. "You were saying? About finding out the point of this... story?" When she said 'story', she used air quotes. Bitch.  
  
Before Cole can answer, a small, vicious-looking bird flaps in and perches on Prue's shoulder. "I have a complaint," it squaks. "If you could refer to me as THE Falcon? I'd appreciate it all the more." With that, the small bird flies straight into the fire for a premature death.  
  
"Oh but it's so close to her birthday," Prue says in a mournful voice. "I was gonna get her a camera."  
  
"I was gonna give her a hunk o' demon love," Cole mutters, then quails under Prue's glare. "Anyways. I say we go to the Source."  
  
Prue's nose wrinkles. She quickly rubs her fingers across it a few times to straighten it out before it gets so bad she'll have to use an iron. Again. "I don't wanna go see him," she whines, "he'll try to obliterate me like he did when he was alive and all that jazz."  
  
Putting down the bottle of beer he wasn't previously drinking, Cole sniffs and reaches into the fridge that wasn't previously there and pulls out two more, handing one to Prue, once he's done the chivalrous thing and opened it for her. He takes a swig of his own before realising he had been intending to say something. "Oh, I don't mean that Source," he quickly interjects between beer-swilling, "I mean, The Source... of this story."  
  
"You don't mean-"  
  
"I do."  
  
Once she's opened her bottle, slightly disgruntled that Cole didn't have the politeness in him to do it for her, Prue gives a full body shudder. Can Cole really mean they should visit the author of the story, they should actually seek out and destroy- Prue means, find - KT?  
  
A comforting chill sweeps through the underground room they're in, the flickering fire crackling warmly as the air hits the flame, and it spits out a piece of bone, feather melted onto the gleaming white fragment. The Falcon (rest her soul) really should be more careful when playing with fire.   
  
Prue sniffs to herself and-  
  
"Well who do you think I was sniffing to? Invincible121?"  
  
Crikey, Prue, bad mood much?  
  
"What can I say? I'm a reflection on the page."  
  
"Will you two shut up?" Cole glares first at his charming companion, then up at the roof of the cave. "You're giving me a headache."  
  
Prue stops short, confused. "You mean... you can hear her?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Cole sighs once more and nods, not really bothering to expand. So I will for him. As Cole is [unfortunately?] also a main character of this story, and at some point we will be focussing on him only, he can also somehow connect with, understand and, seemingly, hear the narrative. Don't look at me, I didn't decide this... or did I?  
  
There is a creaking noise as suddenly the walls of the cave begin to spin around them. In fear Prue leaps into the air just when the floor also begins to move, and somehow Cole negotiates his way so that when she lands, it is in his arms, presumably so he can make some innuendo comment.  
  
"I did not!" he yells angrily at the roof, thoroughly displeased that now anything he says to Prue will sound like a pathetic come-on. Which it most likely will be.   
  
Gently Cole places Prue back on her own feet, but has to catch her again before she falls over since the room is spinning around them so fast. "What the paige is going on?" Prue screams, her voice barely carrying through the wind which doesn't really exist, but they still sense it from the friction of their bodies moving through the air at such speed. "We're in a cave! Those don't move!"  
  
Trying desperately to contain the nausea inside him, Cole swallows noisily and clings onto Prue, careful not to touch any of her 'womanly' areas for fear I will ridicule him, and closes his eyes, hoping the dizziness will stop. "I don't know," he yells over the whipping sound of air buffeting against him. "But I think we're in a spinning top!"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A spinning top! You know, those things that kids play with, they flick them and they spin across the floor-"  
  
Somewhere in Jamaica, maybe in Brazil, on top of a little mountain, beside a grassy hill, a little boy is indeed playing with a spinning top. With a jerk of his hand, he sets it reeling across the stone slab he is using as a small arena, and his competitor also throws her own top into the game.  
  
Prue and Cole cry in horror as they feel the two toys crash into one another, colliding with such force that the two companions are thrown onto the ground and slung against the stone walls sharply. "What's gonna happen?" Prue screeches, tears stinging her eyes from the pain with which she'd hit the wall. "When will it stop?"  
  
Cole does not answer. He is unconscious, having smacked his head against a particularly jutting ledge.  
  
Outside, the players yelp and whoop in joy as the two spinning tops crash and thud into each other, until eventually the one containing Prue and Cole runs over a small rut in the cement slab, hops out of it, skids several inches across the stone and trips over a miniscule pebble which first causes one end to smack against the ground, and then the whole top to lurch into the air and fly right off the slab, landing softly in the grass.  
  
"You lose, Jazmin," sneers Tyson. "I'm gonna be a beyblade master mathingy!"  
  
Grabbing his bey... thing, Tyson snickers and runs off into the distance, shortly before falling off a cliff to his death.   
  
Jazmin sighs and picks up her cracked spinning top, much to the terror of Prue who was currently scrambling over to revive Cole before her world was, once more, shaken up by movement. Grimacing while staring at her toy, Jazmin places it back on the ground and stands up. "Bugs in hell," she breathes, and looks in the direction Tyson ran. "That kid takes this whole thing way too seriously."  
  
She walks away.  
  
Inside the spinning top, Prue sees light pour in from the gaping wide crack in the plastic rock and seizes her chance of escape. "Let's go, bentos!" she yells at Cole, but he's still out cold. Growling in distemperment, she attempts to use her telekinesis to levitate him outside and gives a grunt of appeasement when it works. A woo. And hoo.  
  
Suddenly Prue halts in her tracks and looks around her. "Are you being sarcastic?" she demands.  
  
Well... yes.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Get on with it, Prudence.   
  
Deciding to ignore me, Prue swishes her hands and sasheys out of the beyblade after Cole, careful to whack his head off the stone walls several times before he's home free. Each smack is met with an unconscious grunt as the air is battered out of his body, and Prue smirks to herself happily before hopping out into the grass and revelling in the warmth of the depleting summer sun on her skin.  
  
"Thank my astral self I'm not Paige," she murmurs to herself, reflecting on how Paige would turn into a pile of dust at the first hint of contact with the sun. Shaking out her hair, Prue realises just how tall the grass is in comparison with her, and frowns. "Uh," she starts, but the idea hasn't quite formed in her head enough for her to speak aloud.   
  
So I decide to give her a hint:   
  
Prue. You're two inches tall.  
  
As her face relaxes now that her suspicions have been confirmed, Prue sighs and breathes an "oh". Then, quickly as she stopped, she starts again. "What?" she yelps, leaping into the air and thrashing at a particularly slender blade of grass, images of 'Honey I Shrunk The Kids' attacking her in a barrage of killer bees and sloppy, slobbering dogs. "What do you mean we're two inches tall? In fact, don't answer that. You'll just say something sarcastic and bitchy and I'll be forced to kill you with my thumb." She holds up her miniscule, size-of-a-needle-point thumb and gesticulates with it threateningly.  
  
Cole takes this as his cue and wakes up. "Where am I?" he moans groggily, sounding like a New Yorker on summer vacation at 10AM when her Scotlum friend has decided to call and wake her up. He rolls over with a groan and looks down at himself, suddenly realising there's a rather revealing tear in his black pants. With a yelp he whips onto his stomach and glances up at Prue to check she wasn't looking.  
  
She was.  
  
Smirking, Prue decided to take her frustrations out on the demon.  
  
Minutes later, Cole is wandering around with nothing but a grass skirt on. He looks rather dashing, if one might comment.  
  
"You can't."  
  
Oh hoh. Mister Snappy! 


	3. Stupid Crow

A/N: I love writing this. Thank you for the reviews, the support means a lot.  
  
*  
  
And The Dead Unite  
  
*  
  
Pausing briefly to sort his Hawaiian-style grass hula skirt (is that stereotypical of me? Snerk), Cole wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and stoops a little so his face is at the same level as Prue's, and he hides behind her peering over her shoulder while she parts two blades of grass to spy on whatever was making that rustling noise which has just disturbed and frightened them both greatly.  
  
"I'm NOT scared," Prue growls, her eyes flicking upwards in annoyance. "Will you quit deciding how I feel?"  
  
Sorry.  
  
"Good," she mutters, then narrows her eyes into the clearing in the grassy jungle her two-inch tall self and the two-inch tall Cole have found themselves in. "I can't see anything," she reports.  
  
Her companion suggests it's because she's squinted her eyes so tightly, they're practically closed.  
  
Clucking in irritation, Prue secretly acknowledges he's correct, and opens her eyes. "Uh oh," she intones at the sight in front of her eyes. "Ants." There's a swishing noise which Prue conceives to be the sound of Cole's grass skirt rustling as he runs in the opposite direction. "Not so fast," she calls after him.  
  
He doesn't return.  
  
Panicked, Prue begins to hobble after him. "Seriously!" she yells. "Not so fast! I can't keep up with you - I'm wearing restrictive leather pants!" But it's too late; he's already gone. Stopping, Prue bends double and attempts to catch her breath, pushing air out of her lungs and pulling it back in hurriedly. "What an asshole!" she bitches. "Now what am I gonna do?"  
  
Prue then realises she never wanted to be lumped with the idiot Cole in the first place, so should really be quite happy.   
  
"Hey! I just realised something-"  
  
Yes Prue, we know.  
  
"No, not that!" scowls an angry Halliwell. "Dammit, KT, will you quit jumping to conclusions already?"  
  
But it's what I do! I jump! Ask Mari!  
  
Frowning, the witch clicks her tongue and begins to walk back to where she saw the ants. Two of them, she's spotted, scrabbling around in the dirt for something or other that Prue didn't really care to find out about. After about twenty-seven point three seconds of walking (but who's counting?), Prue arrives in the clearing and announces herself with a loud clearing of her throat.  
  
The ants look up suddenly, as if somebody has just cleared their throat in order to gain their attention. They regard Prue with bulbous eyes, and chitter to each other before advancing with spindly legs a-movin' and pointy pincers a-snappin'.  
  
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," ponders Prue as she finds herself seized by the larger of the two ants and held firmly in it's jaws.   
  
Pleased with themselves at their catch, the ants scuttle off to their large home to present this royal, succulent meal to their queen. She will be very pleased, oh yes. Very pleased indee-  
  
"Did you just call me succulent?" Prue chokes, slightly delayed, with a look of disgust.  
  
Um...  
  
Anyways...  
  
Cole! Let's see what happened to Cole!   
  
"Prue?" yells the demon in question, fighting his way through the humid leafs of juicy green gras- "Do you have to call it juicy? Now I want to eat it!" Siging loudly, Cole sits down on a small mound of dirt and arranges his skirt to cover up his manhood. It takes him only a second. "Oh shut up," he growls.   
  
A scrabbling noise distracts his attention momentarily, and he leaps into the air in time to defend himself from the KILLER LADYBIRD! Oh wait, it's not killer at all. In fact, it looks downright pleasant.   
  
Quivering slightly in apprehensive fear, Cole extends a vibrating hand and fingers the nape of the ladybird's neck softly. It warms to his touch, giving a small, delighted squeal, and causes him to almost have an embolism when it's wings suddenly snap open and it takes off into the air.   
  
The sound of the buzzing deafens Cole as he tries to yell at the insect, attempting to gain some sort of understanding. But before he can initiate further contact, the ladybird hovers higher into the air and suddenly speeds off out of sight. The fluttering of its wings created a small gale-force wind as it did so, knocking Cole off his feet and sending him sprawling over the dirt ground.   
  
"All right, that's it!" Cole yells. "I'm gonna get some pants!"  
  
After much foraging, Cole, as unlikely as it seems, finds a pair of black jeans casually tied up on a thin strand of root, stretched between two daisy stalks. He doesn't think twice before grabbing them and putting them on. Brushing out his chest hair in a satisfactory manner, Cole breathes in a gulp of air and turns around, finally realising Prue isn't with him.  
  
Frowning through the Botox, the demon negotiates his way through the grass, pausing every few seconds to shudder whenever he hears a strange, unidentifiable sound; a rustling or snapping. "Prue?" he calls, his voice barely above a whisper. "Prue, where are you?"  
  
"You!" comes a fiery voice from behind him. Whipping around, Cole starts when he sees a yellow-blonde, pale-faced woman glaring at him.  
  
Eyes wide, Cole stumbles backwards and trips over the uneven ground, landing softly on his back. He keeps staring shakily at the woman in front of him while scrambling away, rather unsuccessfully. "Paige?" he splutters, shocked and afraid.  
  
As the woman's eyes harden and narrow, she steps forwards and all of a sudden her hair is raven black, emphasising her skin even more. "No," she snarls. "My name is Rose McGowan." As she speaks, her hair changes once more to the Paige he is more familiar with; a volumous redhead. "And," she intones with menace, "you are wearing my boyfriend's pants."  
  
In shock, the demon glances down at his perfect-fit black jeans, then up at Paige McRose, or whatever her name is, and sees her hair is now a fawny, throwaway blonde. "What are you?" he cries, horrified.  
  
Rose suddenly powerwalks right over to him as if she is an understudy for The Ring, and kneels down, leering into his face. "Something you have only had nightmares about," she growls. "I am... an actress."  
  
Suddenly, she turns into a crow, which begins to grow and spread and grow some more. Cole presumes, once she finally stops and looms over him impassively, that she is probably the size of a regular crow, as he is so miniscule at this particular moment.   
  
The Crow, white-faced (presumably as it IS Rose McGowan we're dealing with here, and also some strange references to a movie) with black stripes across its beak, cocks its head in a birdlike manner, funnily enough, and sets its beady eyes onto Cole.  
  
The demon swallows with some difficulty the fear that has risen into his throat, and begins to back off.   
  
"I've just realised this story doesn't make sense," he suddenly stutters.  
  
No kidding. What is it now?  
  
"How come we're apparently two inches tall, yet the ants were huge?"  
  
What can I say? We have as much continuity as Charmed over here at Charmeded Studios.  
  
"I keep forgetting you're using us for cheap entertainment," Cole sighs, still backing away from the massive gothic crow.  
  
Yeah, well, just don't tell Prue. I'm sure she'd find some way to become human-sized again and find me and commence the biggest ass-kicking in history. In fact, I think I'm gonna modify your memory so you can't tell her.  
  
Within seconds, Cole has no idea what he was just talking about. The crow butts into the narrative with a sharp caw, and takes a step towards the anxious Cole.  
  
"What's it gonna do?" the demon quivers.   
  
It's going to eat him. And before he asks why, it's because crows thrive on this sort of thing. Look, it's thriving already! Oh ew, it just thrived all over Cole... someone should really hand him a towel.  
  
"Can't we just be friends?" he screams as the giant average-sized crow lunges down over him, its beak gaping open, and snaps him up into its mouth, swallowing him whole. With a satisfied caw, the crow shakes out its feathers and takes off.  
  
Once it arrives on its usual perch on an old, decrepit oak tree, the crow morphs back into Rose McGowan, sporting her raven-black hair.  
  
"I'd prefer crow-black," she mutters absent-mindedly, patting her stomach.  
  
Okay... fine. Crow-black.  
  
Even though that sounds stupid. 


End file.
